


in all of your glory

by regardinglove



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dancing, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Vicchan Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-08-14 13:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16493429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regardinglove/pseuds/regardinglove
Summary: It’s funny; he thought he’d be immune to Victor’s charms after all of this time, but he still feels butterflies pounding in his gut as Victor drapes an arm around his waist and pulls him close, still feels his cheeks heat when Victor’s hand brushes his ass, still feels his heart jump when Victor whispers in his ear about how lovely he looks tonight. It’s ridiculous, really. Because at the end of the day, after they push through those doors that hide them from the public eye, the magic will break. Because like Cinderella at the ball, Yuuri will turn from a prince back into a peasant, and Victor will remain as the untouchable king that he is. Because this, all of this, the rings and the closeness and the kisses—“Great acting as always, my beautiful, fake boyfriend!”—aren’treal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookyfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/gifts).



> hello lovely spooky! i'm so sorry that this is a little late, and i'm sorry that it's not complete yet. parts two and three will be coming out shortly, once i get school and work under a little bit more control. you're the best! i hope you enjoy!

_rule one: no kissing_

If there is one thing Yuuri knows, it is this: everything on the ice is love. He feels it every day, in his intricate twizzles, in the wind blowing through his hair, in the strong hands that hold his. Love is all around him—

—and right now? That’s more evident than ever.

Everything is a livewire— the music, rising to a crescendo and signalling the end of the program, the crowd, already on their feet and waving their giant signs in the air, the judges, eyes tracing every little move they make. It should be overwhelming, too much for one person to handle on their own.

But that’s just it; Yuuri isn’t alone.

Breath brushes the back of his neck, and suddenly he’s flying. The crowd gasps at the lift— it’s not an easy one, not by a long shot— and when Yuuri raises his hand above his head, they break out into rapturous applause. A smile flickers across his face, brilliant and bold as he descends back to earth, and only grows when he spins around and sees _him_.

Victor’s beaming brighter than a gold medal when their eyes meet, warm and soft and filled with light. He wastes no time pulling Yuuri back into their dance, twirling him around as the music grows and grows, guiding him through another lift, twizzle sequence, dance hold. It all leads up to this— their last lift, the one that will make or break their entire performance. Victor’s gaze finds Yuuri’s, asks that unsaid question with the slight rise of an eyebrow,

_You trust me?_

Yuuri answers back with the slight tilt of his head.

 _Always_.

He really should be used to it by now, considering they’ve been skating this program for months, but Yuuri still gasps when Victor pulls him into his arms and spins him around. The cold air of the rink feels even more frigid than usual when he’s being spun, but that hardly matters when Victor’s warm gaze is focused on him and him alone, all encompassing. His skates hit the ice once again, then they fall into their final pose, Yuuri cradling Victor’s face as they kneel on the ice, foreheads resting against each other’s.

Applause, loud and roaring, fills the arena, but Yuuri blocks it all out for Victor’s soft voice whispering in his ear.

“You were beautiful,” Victor says, then pecks a kiss on Yuuri’s cheek that makes his heart clench.

“You too,” Yuuri whispers, but the words are lost to the rapturous cheering of the crowd and Victor pulling them both into a standing position for their bows. They raise their entwined hands, letting their matching gold rings catch in the fluorescent light, then wave to the crowd as they pick up the various plushies and flowers that have cascaded down to the ice. Yuuri’s heart pounds in his chest as Victor’s hand squeezes his as he catches a plush poodle, before guiding Yuuri away into the kiss and cry where they’ll find out their fate.

Yakov and Lilia are already waiting as they take their seats in the booth, heads close together as they whisper in fast-paced Russian. Yuuri catches a little bit of what they’re saying, something about “working on that twizzle sequence” mixed in with a hundred other words that he doesn’t know. The only thing he understands perfectly is _Vitya_ , but that’s no surprise; it was the first word he ever learned in Russian, back when he was ten and skating with one of the most talented junior ice dancers in the world felt like a distant dream.

If only his younger self could see him now, dancing with Victor at the World Championships, close enough to gold that he can taste it.

“The scores, please,” the announcer booms over the loudspeakers, and the crowd falls into a hush as Yuuri curls his fingers around the bench’s edge, eyes trained on the board in front of him.

A moment passes that feels like an eternity, but then Yuuri hears what he’s been waiting for.

“Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov have earned in the free dance… 115.91 points, for a total score of 193.73. They are currently in first place.”

The crowd, which was rapturous before, explodes all around them in a cacophony of excited screams and shrieks. Yakov and Lilia clap and congratulate them on guaranteeing themselves at least a silver medal. Even JJ and Isabella, the last dancers to skate, nod their heads in respect before taking the ice with wide smiles on their faces.

But Yuuri ignores all of that for Victor. Victor, who is grinning into Yuuri’s neck, leaving the chastest of kisses there. Victor, who’s warmth is keeping Yuuri from shivering in the freezing rink. Victor, who’s hand is still tightly wrapped around Yuuri’s, refusing to let go, even when they vacate the kiss and cry, and make their way through the tunnels.

It’s funny; he thought he’d be immune to Victor’s charms after all of this time, but he still feels butterflies pounding in his gut as Victor drapes an arm around his waist and pulls him close, still feels his cheeks heat when Victor’s hand brushes his ass, still feels his heart jump when Victor whispers in his ear about how lovely he looks tonight. It’s ridiculous, really. Because at the end of the day, after they push through those doors that hide them from the public eye, the magic will break. Because like Cinderella at the ball, Yuuri will turn from a prince back into a peasant, and Victor will remain as the untouchable king that he is. Because this, all of this, the rings and the closeness and the kisses—

“Great acting as always, my beautiful, fake boyfriend!”

—aren’t _real_.

* * *

Looking back, this entire arrangement can be traced to one huge, embarrassing mishap. They’d just finished their free dance at 2015’s Skate America, sweaty and exhausted and wiped. Yuuri, half dazed from the lights and roars of the crowd, tried to skate towards the left wing kiss and cry while Victor tried to skate to the right wing boards. The crash was inevitable, expected, but falling on top of Victor in such a way that their lips touched was _not._

Yuuri, in his state of absolute mortification, didn’t even think to move until Victor lightly pushed him away and sat up, an incriminating red blush blooming across his cheeks. And at that point it was too late; the damage was done, and for the following week, Yuuri couldn’t even open his (rarely used) Twitter without a thousand notifications and direct messages bombarding his phone, all asking the same thing: could it be possible that he was dating _Victor Nikiforov?_

Of course both him and Victor wanted to set the record straight, let people know that it was all a big accident, but fate— or more accurately, their manager— had other plans.

“Do you guys not realize what a great opportunity this is?” Yuuko asked one afternoon, raising an eyebrow at them from her place behind her massive, oak desk. “You guys have been the talk of figure skating Twitter for _days_ , despite the Yang/Leroy engagement and the discourse over Crispino/Babechiva’s low component scores. You realize how rare that is?”

When Yuuri and Victor just glanced at each other cluelessly, Yuuko sighed and forged on. “Anyway, it’s a big deal, and I think we really need to… make the most out of this opportunity.”

“What do you mean?” Victor asked in a slightly suspicious voice, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees.

Yuuko laid her hands flat against the wood and smiled mischievously. “I’m saying, everyone’s going to keep thinking you’re a couple until you deny it. So why not just… not deny it?”

Yuuri blanched. “Let people think we’re together? That’s...”

“...brilliant? A surefire way to get sponsors?”

“... _impossible_ ,” Yuuri finished. “We can’t do that!”

Yuuko sighed and leaned back in her plush chair, a loud creak interrupting the tense air. “You don’t understand. I’ve had multiple companies call me, asking to get in touch with you guys. I’m talking John Wilson Blades, Toyota, Trojan Condoms—”

“Excuse me, _what?!”_

“Everyone wants a piece of you two!” Yuuko exclaimed, then slowly turned towards Victor. “You’ve been awfully quiet. What do you think?”

Yuuri was so busy trying not to panic that he didn’t enough notice Victor’s suspicious silence, but when he too slanted a glance at his partner, he found him looking way more composed than Yuuri felt, face serene and unreadable as he hummed under his breath and drummed his fingers against his thigh. Then, he said the words that have haunted Yuuri to this very day:

“Who’s going to believe that we’re a couple? That’ll never happen.”

Granted, Victor wasn’t wrong. Yuuri knew Victor would always be unreachable, but it was one thing to know the truth and a whole other to hear it spoken in Victor’s voice, loud and clear and final. It took everything in Yuuri to not let the hurt show through, hide the blow Victor just made to his already fragile heart.

“They’re already believing it,” Yuuko pointed out, completely oblivious to Yuuri’s discomfort. She dug out her phone from her pocket and poked around for a few moments before sliding it across the desk. “Twitter is literally blowing up with debates on if you guys hugged or kissed. People are taking bets on how long you’ve been secretly together. You guys even have a ship name already; they’re calling you _Victuuri_.” She steepled her fingers and reclaimed her phone before she looked them both in the eye and said, “Listen, I won’t force you guys into anything, I hope you both know that. But this could be a great sponsorship opportunity, and with the Olympics coming up… just, I think this is the right move, for both of you.”

Yuuri’s heart was pounding in his chest and his stomach was in knots. There was absolutely no way he was going to fake date Victor; it was disaster waiting to happen! Someone would inevitably find out their secret, and then what? The humiliation would be unbearable, they’d lose all of their sponsors, and worst of all, their friendship would be shattered to pieces. The risk was too great.

And yet… Yuuri couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like, pretending that Victor could care for him beyond friendship, if he could have Victor’s hand in his more than on the ice. He let himself, foolishly, think about snuggling up to Victor in the kiss and cry. He considered if he could handle the inevitable pain that would come after each fleeting moment of pleasure. But most of all, he imagined what it would feel like to call Victor the title he’s always wanted to but never was brave enough to ask for: _boyfriend_.

It’s tempting. Too tempting.

Which is why Yuuri, despite all the red flags rising in his head, clutched Victor’s hand in return and said, “Okay.”

And that was that. Yuuri and Victor went out to dinner and argued for hours over a list of can and cannots, before boiling it down to three main rules:

No kissing on the mouth

No sharing a bed

And, the most important one of all:

No saying ‘I love you’

After that was taken care of, Victor confirmed their relationship on Instagram the next day, and for the past three years they’ve been attached at the hip, brushing hands whenever a camera is trained on them, stealing cheek kisses when fans are watching, cuddling close as they await scores at events... only to act like nothing more than friends the minute they’re behind closed doors. The back and forth stung in the beginning, like pulling off a bandage or burning a finger on the stove, but Yuuri thought, no, _knew_ that the hurt would ease, that his dreams of having Victor as his own would fade the longer this charade went on.

But that’s the funny thing about love; when it’s real, it doesn’t go away. Instead, it lingers, pulses, overtakes everything within and around you. Which is why three years later Yuuri is still exactly where he began, pining for a man he’ll never have and trying his damndest not to let on how gone he is… which is incredibly difficult when Victor’s doing _that_.

They’re at the rink in St. Petersburg, taking a break from a gruelling practice. Most coaches would give their dancers a break after clenching a silver medal at the World Championships, but when you’re under the careful eye of Yakov and Lilia, nothing but gold is good enough. So here they are, preparing for next year, drilling their twizzles until they’re both dizzy, practicing their lifts until all bobbles are smoothed. They run their rhythm dance again and again and again, until Yuuri is sure that he’ll have _Eros_ stuck in his head for days. It’s well-welcomed when Yakov finally says they can take a break while he works with Sara and Mila for awhile, and Yuuri immediately opts to take a seat on the freezing bleachers. He sighs as the metal cools his sweaty skin, but the relief is short lived; because the minute Yuuri flicks his gaze over to the ice, he finds Victor performing his portion of their short dance.

It’s no secret that their rhythm dance this season is the most sensual program they’ve ever done; with _tango romantica_ as the theme, it’s almost inevitable. And Victor is never one for subtlety when it comes to performing. Yuuri can’t help but feel his skin heat when his eyes trace Victor’s smooth movements across the ice, head thrown back as he glides into a twizzle. His hands wander over his body, slow and sensual, and Yuuri can almost imagine himself out there with him, those hands intertwined with his, gripping tight as the sound of blades scraping against ice mixes in with the melody of violins. He raises his hands in the air to clap, and with it reveals a small strip of alabaster skin, peeking out from under his tight black t-shirt.

“I’m so _gay_ ,” Yuuri whispers under his breath.

“Uh, Yuuri? You there?”

Yuuri starts and fumbles around before picking up the phone that’s resting in his lap. When he looks down Mari is staring back at him on the screen, one eyebrow raised on her face-masked covered face.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, blush coloring his cheeks. He leans back against the bleachers and props his feet up on the metal ledge in front of him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Mari says with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. “Hasetsu is the same as always. Mom and dad are keeping the inn together, Ice Castle still is as busy as ever.” A muffled woof interrupts her, and Mari quickly says “hold on” before she disappears from view. Yuuri hears a door opening, followed by the familiar sound of nails against tatami. Before Mari can take a seat again, Vicchan is barreling towards her laptop, a rush of brown fur filling the screen before everything goes sideways, leaving Yuuri with a view of Mari’s less-than-clean floor.

“Dammit, Vicchan!” he hears Mari hiss, followed by a clatter as she reaches down and reorients the laptop upright again. “Sorry, he misses you,” she says with a smile, letting Vicchan crawl into her lap despite the mess he made.

Yuuri grins back. “I miss him, too. All of you. NHK can’t get here fast enough.”

Mari lets her fingers drag through Vicchan’s fur and looks down at him, worrying her lip. “Yeah, about that,” she says, pausing for a moment before she blurts out, “Have you told Victor yet?”

His gut churns at the words and he quickly glances away. “Told Victor what?” Yuuri says, voice almost cracking on the last word.

“You know what!” Mari exclaims. “C’mon, are you really not going to tell him? Even after all this time?”

“You know I can’t. He’s my dance partner; it’d ruin everything if he found out.”

If this were anyone else, Yuuri’s positive that they would see he’s right and give up. But Mari isn’t anyone else. She’s his sister, the one who took him to Ice Castle as soon as he was old enough to skate, showed him how to take his first steps onto the ice, sat him down in front of the TV and introduced him to the beauty that is Victor. She’s the one who fed him when their parents were overloaded with customers, taught him to ride a bike, has been taking a thousand and one pictures of Vicchan while Yuuri trains in St. Petersburg. She knows everything about him, from his fear of spiders to his childhood crush on Yuuko to his distaste for Americanized sushi, so it’s no surprise she knows about his pathetic, over-the-top crush on Victor.

Which is why she doesn’t back down.

“Yeah, he’s your partner, but he’s also the guy you’ve been lovesick over since you were twelve and watched him dance at Worlds.” Yuuri doesn’t have to be in the same room as her to feel her judgement radiating all around. “Listen, I know we’ve been over this a thousand times now, but I still think you’ll feel a lot better if you just tell him how you feel.”

“Yuuri! Break’s over! Get back on the ice!” Yakov hollers from below, and Yuuri’s never been happier to hear his coach’s yelling. He brushes a piece of hair from his eyes and juts his thumb toward the boards. “I’ve gotta go.”

Mari smirks back at him and lays her hand on Vicchan’s head, nudging him to look at the camera. “Say goodbye to Yuuri, Vicchan,” she says, but Vicchan doesn’t budge. Instead, he adjusts his place in Mari’s lap and snorts into her leg, an act of defiance if Yuuri ever saw one. “Fine, be that way,” Mari chides, then looks at Yuuri again. “Call me after practice?”

“Only if you agree not to talk about my love life,” he argues.

“Fine,” she sighs. “But I’m serious, Yuuri. Think about telling him, alright? Please?”

Yuuri has zero plans of telling Victor that he’s been in love with him for years, but instead of getting into another fruitless argument with Mari, he rolls his eyes and mutters, “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Mari says, then smiles softly while she sneaks out from under Vicchan. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “Talk to you soon. Bye.”

He gets one last glimpse of Mari’s face before the video chat ends and he’s left with only a blank screen. Yakov calls for him once again, and Yuuri waddles down from the bleachers, trying his best to stay upright. It only takes a tiny bit of time for Yuuri to take off his skate guards and step onto the ice, and another for him to do a few warm up laps around the rink before coming to a stop in front of Victor.

“Ready?” Victor asks as he pulls Yuuri into their opening pose.

Yuuri nods. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

For the rest of practice, Yuuri ignores the feeling of Victor’s skin on his own. He tells himself that his feelings for Victor are nothing but platonic, that he’ll get over his crush soon enough, that he doesn’t need to take Mari’s advice and can keep going about this his own way. He repeats ‘ _you can’t love him’_ like a mantra over and over again, through practice, on his walk home from the rink, all the way until he get to his tiny, half-empty apartment and flops onto the couch. By the time the sun sets in the sky and he’s half asleep, Yuuri’s positive that he can keep it together when it comes to Victor, at least, for now.

It’s that thought that floats through his mind as his eyes flutter shut, and he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

The off season passes by in a blur, and before Yuuri knows it he’s standing in a hotel lobby in Toronto, flicking through his phone while Yakov checks them all in to their rooms. Mila and Sara are lounging on a couch, Mila’s fingers absentmindedly brushing through Sara’s hair as they crowd over her phone. Yuri and Georgi, the only two singles skaters that Yakov coaches, are bickering in a corner about who is going to shower first, while Lilia looks on with utter disappointment written across her face. But Yuuri hardly notices any of that, because Victor’s hand is interlaced with his, index finger tapping against Yuuri’s knuckle again and again. It’s times like these, with Victor so close, that he can let himself forget that this is all an act, and just live in the moment without letting his logical mind get in the way of his traitorous heart.

“We’re being watched,” Victor murmurs into his ear, ,nodding his head in the direction of the entryway doors. A group of girls are obviously staring at them, eyes wide as they quickly whisper back and forth. Eventually, the one that looks to be the ringleader of the pack pushes past the others and struts up to them, posing her hands on her hips as she grins widely at them.

“Excuse me,” she says in a mildly French accent, “aren’t you Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki? The ice dancers?”

Victor, always the better showman, plasters on his fakest smile and reaches out his free hand. “That would be us, yes. Pleasure to meet you.”

The girl nearly turns as red as a tomato when she shakes Victor’s hand, and turns even redder when she blurts out, “Can I get a selfie?”

Victor looks at him with a clear question of _Is that okay?_ in his eyes, and Yuuri responds by pulling Victor into his side, gesturing for the girl to join them. She whips out her camera from her purse and extends her arm, only dropping it once she’s sure that she has the perfect picture for her Instagram, Yuuri assumes. She thanks them profusely before jogging back to her friends, their squeals of delight filling the lobby until they turn a corner and recede from view.

“I almost forgot what it’s like, being recognized like that,” Victor muses.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says with a laugh. “You go a whole summer around people who don’t care about how famous you are and it’s easy to forget about the people who do.”

“Excuse me, I care about how famous you two are! Does that mean you forgot about me?”

Yuuri lets go of Victor’s hand and spins around on his heel. “Phichit!”

Phichit flashes his brilliantly bright teeth at him and edges himself into the narrow distance between Yuuri and Victor. “Man, it feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you two. Which means…” Phichit whips out his phone from his pocket with one hand, while yanking a slightly distracted Victor closer with the other. “Smile!”

“What was that?” Victor exclaims.

“That is a guaranteed 1,000 likes on the ‘Gram,” Phichit says with a nonchalant wave of his hand, then pockets his phone again. “But really, when’s the last time I saw you two? World’s last year?”

“Actually, I think it was that ice show Chris hosted in Geneva,” Victor argues.

“Oh, riiiiight,” Phichit voices, looking a little lost in thought, then immediately perks up. “That reminds me, I didn’t just come over here to say hi; Chris wanted to let you guys know there’s a party happening tonight in his room. Everyone’s invited so tell Sara and Mila, but uh… maybe leave those guys out of it,” Phichit raises his eyebrows and points to Yuri and Georgi, who are almost nose to nose as they yell at each other in fast-paced Russian.

It takes all the willpower in Yuuri not to groan. He’s jetlagged beyond belief from the twelve hour flight and wants nothing more than to go to his hotel room, wash off the grime that always comes with travel, and Skype with his family before inevitably passing out. Going to socialize at one of Chris’s parties is last on his list of ways he wants to spend his night, but before he even gets a chance to decline, Victor is wrapping his arm around Yuuri’s waist and says, “Sure! We’d love to come!”

“Awesome.” Phichit nods his head. “Party starts around eight-ish, and I’ll text you Chris’s room number.” A high pitched beep rings out from his pocket, and Phichit’s face crunches up when he pulls out his phone. “Ugh, Ciao Ciao wants me to go to practice my short program before the comp tomorrow, thinks my jumps could use some work. But hey, can’t wait to catch up more at the party!”

“Okay, see you there!” Victor says with a smile, but his grin falls when he turns and finds the utter look of distaste on Yuuri’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just...” Yuuri trails off. “The competition starts tomorrow. Not to be a nag, but won’t Yakov yell at us if we’re out all night?”

“Yuuri, you’ve been training with Yakov with years now. Are you really that afraid of his yelling?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “No, because _I’m_ never the one he yells at; it’s always you.”

“Exactly,” Victor says, flashing one of this mischievous grins of his, “If anything, I’ll be the one that gets reamed out. You have nothing to worry about. Besides,” he says with a clearly over-exaggerated sigh, “if we want to keep everyone believing we’re a real couple, we have to keep up appearances.”

Yuuri bites down on the inside of his lip and glances away. He knows Victor’s right, but that’s just it; he _knows_ Victor has a point. Outside of their families, Yakov, LIlia, and Yuuko are the only ones who know about that their relationship is fake. Everyone else, from their friends to their rinkmates to their competitors, think they’re the real deal. It’s one thing to fake it for the fans; they don’t have any rights to their personal lives. But lying to Phichit? Mila and Sara? Chris? It hurts, every time he has to hold Victor close and lie through his teeth.

Which is exactly why he doesn't want to go to this party. It’ll just be another chance to lie, lie, lie, and Yuuri is so sick of it.

But then Victor flashes his best puppy dog look at Yuuri, earnest and precious in turn, and he know that he can’t deny him this.

“Okay,” Yuuri sighs. “We’ll go for a little bit, but not too late, okay?”

Victor smiles. “Thank you. Now,” he offers his arm for Yuuri to take, “care to escort me to our room?”

Yuuri smirks and latches his arm through Victor’s. “You’re such a dork.”

“Ah, but I’m _your_ dork,” he says. “Now c’mon, let’s go.”

* * *

Yuuri manages to get a shower and short nap in before Victor tosses one of his duffel bag on the bed and reminds him that they have a party to attend. He groans into his pillow before slowly rising, eyes blinking blearly as he rolls out of bed and forces himself to look in the mirror. The dark circles around his eyes are unsightly, and his hair is sticking up from all angles. But he can hardly get himself to care when Victor’s lounging against the doorframe, clearly waiting for Yuuri to get his act together so they can leave. He takes that as a cue to dress as quickly as he can, opting for a pair of slightly worn jeans and one of his nicer hoodies. After brushing his teeth and trying (and failing) to tame his hair, he calls it good enough and follows Victor out the door and down the hall to Chris’s room.

The door is propped open, and what sounds like Britney Spears _Toxic_ mixes in with the low murmuring of voices when they walk inside. Sprawled out on the floor is Sara and Mila, who flash them encouraging smiles when they enter. Phichit waves from his place on the ottoman, nudging Seung-gil with his foot to follow. A few other skaters Yuuri doesn’t recognize are scattered throughout the room, sipping from pop cans and talking about the competition. And Chris is layed out indecently on the bed, low-cut robe barely covering his body while his boyfriend, Matthieu, lays next to him.

“Yuuri! Victor! How are my favorite lovers?” Chris says with a smirk that makes Yuuri’s cheeks heat. “Come on in.” He gestures to the empty spot at the edge of the bed, then moves over so there’s room for both of them. “Did your off-season treat you well?”

“Very,” Victor says. “We spent a few weeks in Hasetsu, then came back to St. Petersburg for some rather rigorous training.” He laughs once and raises an eyebrow at Chris. “And what about you?”

Chris waves his hand in the air and says, “Oh, the usual. Visiting family in Geneva, spending a few weeks in Canada to get fitted for my newest costume— totally mesh, by the way. The judges will nearly faint— and, of course, travelling the world with my beautiful Matthieu.” He leans over and lays a long, languid kiss on his lover’s lips, to the point where Yuuri feels the need to look away.

“Hey, care to keep it in your pants?” Mila caws from her place on the floor. “Some of us would like to keep our eyes from burning.”

“Please, as if you don’t mack on Sara every chance you get,” Phichit calls.

“Excuse _you_ , we are perfectly behaved in public,” Sara says, then smirks widely. “...At least, where people can see us.”

A loud groan echoes through the room, which only gets Sara and Mila laughing as they cuddle closer and peck kisses on each other’s lips.

“Ugh, couples,” Phichit mutters, then takes another sip of his drink. “Good thing you and Victor aren’t like that, right guys?”

If Yuuri was uncomfortable before, he freezes entirely when every set of eyes on the room turns to stare at him and Victor.

“...What?” Yuuri says.

“C’mon, you and Victor don’t kiss in public? I don’t believe that for a second,” Chris says, then looks pointedly at Victor. “I know this one, and he’s not one for modesty,” he jokes.

“We’re really not like that,” Yuuri defends, crossing his arms over his middle. “Victor and I are, uh, private people.”

“Victor? Private? You do know he posts half-nude pictures on Instagram at least three times a week,” Mila teases. She sits up and purses her lips. “But y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you and Yuuri kiss, ever.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Sara chimes in. “And I train with you guys every day.”

 _Oh no_ , Yuuri thinks. _Oh_ no.

“It’s just… I just… what—” Yuuri stutters. “I uh—”

Victor steps closer to Yuuri and wraps his arms around his middle, just the grounding that Yuuri needs. He relaxes into the touch, leans into Victor’s side, and lets his head rest against his chest, trying his best to calm himself against the anxiety that is rising in his gut.

“What Yuuri means,” Victor intervenes, “is that we don’t try to scar those around us with our… indecent adventures,” he says. “Can we please talk about something else now?”

Sara and Mila nod their heads, and Phichit just shrugs and goes back to scrolling through his phone. Chris, however, is not as convinced, and levels a concerned glance at them. “I’m sorry, I just don’t believe that you’ve _never_ kissed in public. I mean Victor, this is you we’re talking about, right? The one who blew a kiss to the judges during your 2012 free dance? And _Yuuri_ , banquet-stripping Yuuri, has never, not once, kissed his beloved boyfriend in public?”

“Chris, please, let it go,” Victor practically begs.

Chris brings a finger up to his lips and muses for a quick moment. “Okay, I’ll let it go… if you kiss Yuuri, right now.”

Yuuri nearly chokes on his own spit. “What?!”

“You kiss in private, why not in public?” Chris shrugs. “We all did it; it’s only fair that you guys show a little passion too.”

“I… we can’t…”

“Why not?”

Because it’s against the rules, because it’s way too much, because if he kisses Victor, there’s no going back. Once he knows Victor’s lips against his own, it’s all he’ll think about, and with so much on the line, it’s just not possible.

But if he doesn’t, if he fights back, everyone will know the truth. And that’s just not an option, not after all of this time.

“Chris, please—” Victor says, but Yuuri slips out from under his grasp and lays a hand on his cheek. “Yuuri—umph!”

Granted, Yuuri hoped that his first kiss with Victor would be a little more romantic than this, with him awkwardly pushing his lips against Victor’s with his eyes open. But he can’t help but lean into the moment, take it while it lasts.

Which isn’t long at all, apparently. Victor pulls away after a few seconds, looking dazed beyond belief. His cheeks are redder than he’s ever seen them, and everyone else in the room looks equally as stunned.

“Well…” Yuuri says when he’s met with nothing but silence, “this has been fun, but I… think I’m going to go. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Yuuri? Yuuri!” he hears a chorus of voices call, but before he can even consider turning back, he’s down the hall and into the elevator, leaving the party and his embarrassment behind.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_rule two: no sharing a bed_

Yuuri doesn’t go back to the party, even though he knows he really should; leaving Victor to fend for himself and explain Yuuri’s erratic behavior isn’t exactly the fairest thing he’s ever done, after all. But Yuuri’s tired from travelling halfway across the world, and if Victor’s going to be out all night, at least he’ll be rested up before the rhythm dance tomorrow. So he climbs into bed and turns off the lights, letting his mind think about anything else but the tingling on his lips that hasn’t left.

The next few days pass in a blur. They perform their rhythm dance, but Yuuri knows he’s not giving it his all. Every move that usually makes him feel like he’s on fire is not clicking, and when the music ends and he’s staring into Victor’s eyes, he can see the unraised questions clear as day. He wants to believe it’s a fluke, but the flicker never sparks into a flame, even as he flies through the air during their free dance, holding Victor as close as he can, feeling his heart racing in his chest.

They end up medaling, but it hardly feels like a victory when that bronze disc is hung around his neck, a reminder that if Yuuri just got his head in the game, they could’ve gotten gold instead.

But after the lights have gone down and the crowds have vanished from the stands, medals are the least of Yuuri’s problems. After the ceremony is over, it hits Yuuri that they’ve barely talked about the kiss. And what will Yuuri tell him? He could’ve easily told Chris to quit it, but instead he _kissed Victor_. Broke one of their rules. What is Victor thinking? Will this be it, the moment he figures out how desperately gone Yuuri is on him?

The thought gnaws at him the entire flight back to St. Petersburg, eyes flicking over to Victor every few minutes, wondering when he’ll break the easy silence between them and bring it up. He sits anxiously until the plane lands, not getting any rest at all, and groggily trods through the airport, barely comprehending the Russian signs he well knows how to read at this point. A tiny flicker of relief comes when Yakov pulls Victor into a conversation that takes up the entirety of their time in baggage claim, but disappears just as quickly as it came when Victor insists on him and Yuuri taking a taxi by themselves back to their apartment complex. It’s like he can feel the sweat coalescing on his forehead, and his palms feel sticky as he gets into the car with Victor, knowing _this_ is when he’ll finally have to face him.

But Victor doesn’t bring it up. Not in the taxi, not when they part ways for their separate apartments, not even at the rink the next day during their break. Yuuri waits a day, then another, and another, but it’s like Victor’s forgotten all about the kiss, treating it like it meant nothing.

Yuuri should be thankful, but instead it feels like a punch to the gut: it’s another strikingly sharp reminder that Victor will never care for him the same way Yuuri cares for Victor. It bites into him, which only makes his dancing less focused than ever, distant and wandering like his wayward heart. Yuuri’s almost positive that if he doesn’t pull it together, Yakov will skin him alive, then give Lilia a turn for good measure. He powers through as best as he can, faking it for all its worth.

The only time he feels at peace is a week later when he arrives in Hasetsu. After weeks of their combined pleading, Yakov gave him and Victor permission to leave early for NHK, as long as they practiced as much as they would’ve under his watch. They agreed, and now they’re walking along the streets of Hasetsu, the light sea breeze blowing in their hair, slightly chilly against their too-light jackets. Neighbors greet them as they pass, still calling Victor “Yuuri’s foreigner” despite long knowing his name; as they approach the inn, the steam from the hot springs appears over the wooden fence blocking it off. It’s the most relaxed Yuuri’s felt in weeks.

Well, _almost_.

“Makka! Don’t run ahead! Bad girl!” Victor yells as he drops their duffle bags, but it’s no use. Makkachin is already barreling for the entrance, probably to knock his father down as per usual. But when they turn a corner, Makkachin is sniffing at Mari’s ankles, tail wagging and tongue lolling.

“Hello to you too, Makka,” she says with a slight smile, crouching down to scratch behind her ears. A bark sounds out from behind, and Yuuri grins wider than he has in months when Vicchan trots towards him and puts his paws up on Yuuri’s leg.

“Vicchan!” Victor cries out when Yuuri scoops the pup up and holds him in his arms. “How’s the best boy?”

“Wow, greet the dog before you greet me?” Mari teases, glancing up at them from the ground. “I’m _wounded_.”

Yuuri smiles back and shakes his head. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing.”

“Touche.” She looks over at Victor and says, “Nice to see you again, Victor.”

“You too,” he says. “Thanks for looking after Makka this week. She would be crushed if I left her behind with my babushka.”

“Please, as if I’d turn down a chance to babysit Makka,” she says, then gets up from her place on the ground and gives Makka one more pat on the head before she trots back inside. Vicchan wiggles in Yuuri’s arms, so he lets him down and watches as he follows Makkachin, the two looking like the perfect pair as they chase each other around the common area. Mari watches them fondly, then turns back to Victor. “You can put your things in the guest room, if you want. It’s ready for you.”

Victor nods, and the two share a few more quick pleasantries before Victor escapes into the inn, Makka and Vicchan trailing behind. Once Victor is out of sight, Mari crosses her arms over her chest and says, “So, still in denial about that boy or what?”

Yuuri blushes and turns his face away from Mari, trying to hide the redness from her prying gaze. “I’m not in _denial_ ,” he huffs. “There’s nothing between us. There never will be.”

“You never know until you try,” she shrugs.

“Why do you care so much?” Yuuri almost snaps. “You don’t even like romance.”

Mari rolls her eyes and tosses her hands up in the air. “No, but I care about you, doofus. Is it wrong that I just want you to be happy?”

Yuuri curls his fingers into fists and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Mari, I… appreciate what you’re trying to do. But can you drop it? I’m happy the way things are now.” _A lie, but it’s not like she has to know that_ , he thinks. “It’s just… easier if Victor and I aren’t involved that way for, y’know, _real_.”

Mari squints at him, but doesn’t respond. Instead, she sighs and gestures towards the entryway, muttering about not loitering in front of the guests and how dinner will be ready in a few minutes. He’s grateful for the distraction, and even more thankful when he takes a seat at the table and finds natto on rice. Living in Russia leaves little when it comes to traditional Japanese food, so Yuuri practically inhales the dish, so fast that even Victor comments on his speed and teases him about taking it easy. The rest of the evening is filled with warm laughter, talk about the upcoming competition, and Makkachin trying to snatch food whenever she’s able. And when Yuuri retires to his room for the night and curls up in his long-loved childhood bed, he thinks that nothing can top a night like this.

 

* * *

 

NHK comes and goes faster than Yuuri ever thought possible. After that night at the inn, Mari drops them off at the airport to catch their short flight to Tokyo. She hugs them both and wishes them luck, and they’re off, running through the terminals and ports as fast as they can, desperate not to miss their flight. Yuuri doesn’t relax until he’s seated on the plane, and even then, he’s too amped up to rest. His pre-competition jitters are already kicking in, despite the short dance being a day away, and that unease stays with him through the night and into the following morning. Practice is a drag, and even Yakov calls him out on his racoon eyes and lack of energy. It’s all so overwhelming, Yuuri briefly wonders what he’s doing this all _for_.

That is, until the night of competition comes and he explodes to life, brimming with fire. He pours all of his nervous energy into the short dance and lets himself breathe through the free, finally, _finally_ reclaiming the precision and passion he’s known for. And when it’s all over and he’s sitting in the kiss and cry with Victor, he leans into his partner and lays his head against his shoulder, not even caring about the enraged tweets he’s sure to receive from the overzealous “Victor girls” on Twitter about “stealing their man from the world”.

“Do you think we did it?” Victor whispers to him, but Yuuri doesn’t get to respond before the announcer comes over the loudspeakers and declares:

“Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov have earned in the free dance 121.21 points. Their total score is 200.07, a new season’s best. They are the winners of NHK Trophy!”

Roars erupt from the crowd, and Victor nearly topples them both off of the bench when he jumps up in excitement. Yakov and Lilia pump their fists in the air, while Sara and Mila smile and clap from their place on the sidelines. Everyone is a clamor of commotion, except for Yuuri, who is sitting still, eyes not moving from the score blown up on the big screen.

They did it. Combined with their bronze from Skate Canada, they qualified for the Grand Prix Final.

It’s a whirlwind of commotion after that. Victor and Yuuri are shuffled off to the backstage area along with the other medalists, waiting anxiously to receive their gold medals. Victor spends the downtime chatting with Sara and Mila, who finally managed to claim their much-deserved silver after their bronze streak, while Yakov and Lilia stand to the side with the other coaches. Yuuri trods over to his duffle bag and pulls out his phone, eager to tell his family about the win—

—but time freezes around him when he glances down and sees a barrage of missed calls from Mari, along with a single text that reads ‘call me. it’s an emergency.’

 _Shit_.

Yuuri doesn’t waste time; he ducks out of the room and into the quiet of the nearest hallway, tapping his foot impatiently as he waits for Mari to answer his call. When it goes to voicemail, he tries again and again, until finally, on the third ring, a garbled voice answers, “Yuuri, thank god!”

“Mari? What’s going on?” he whispers, trying not to panic when he hears beeping and rolling wheels, reminiscent of a hospital.

“I only walked away for a minute, I promise,” she says, and whoa, Yuuri’s _never_ heard Mari’s voice shake like that. “I should’ve put them away, then she couldn’t have reached them. I’m so stupid—”

“Mari? Mari! Please, what are you talking about?”

A pause. Followed by words that drain the blood from his face.

“It’s Makkachin. She got into the steam buns and… Yuuri… she’s really not doing well. She could be dying.”

 

* * *

 

They don’t wait around for the medal ceremony.

As soon as Yuuri breaks the news to Victor (and watches as his joy immediately fades to fear), they escape the venue and grab their bags from the hotel, then immediately catch the next flight to Fukuoka. Victor, who usually chats up whoever is in the near vicinity, is silent, staring blankly out the window the entire flight. Yuuri doesn’t push him to talk, just watches from the corner of his eye and lets him know that he’s here for him, no matter what.

The flight lands early, and Victor and Yuuri push their way to the front, Yuuri apologizing profusely to the annoyed passengers who shoot him curious glances. He calls up a cab and instructs him to drive to the Hasetsu Veterinary Clinic as fast as possible, then sits back and stares out the window as Fukuoka’s vibrancy fades into the quietness of Hasetsu’s city limits. Victor remains wordless, sitting as still as a statue, until they pull up to the clinic and the bright lights of the entrance sign light up the inside of the cab.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Victor whispers, voice wobbly.

Yuuri nods his head. “She’s strong, and the vets here are amazing. I promise they’re doing everything they can.”

Victor glances over at him and glances down at his hands, then takes the one closest to him in his palm. Yuuri tries not to jump at the contact, but it’s no use, not when his nerves are already frayed. It’s a small comfort that Victor doesn’t let go, instead just holds on and squeezes tightly before opening the door and heading outside into the cold, unsettling night.

The clinic is just as frigid when they walk through the automatic doors. The plastic floors are off-white, worn down from years of animals dragging in dirt from the nearby gravel road. A large desk takes up the entire right wing of the room, and three exhausted looking receptionists sit behind it, eyes drooping behind their cat-eye glasses. A yelp echoes from the nearest examination room, and Yuuri reaches over and takes Victor’s hand in his once again, rubbing circles into the tops of his knuckles when he sees how white Victor’s face has gone. But perhaps the most unsettling image of all is Mari, hunched over in a neon green waiting chair, eyes rubbed red from crying.

“Took you long enough to get here!” Mari exclaims when he looks up and finds them walking over.

Yuuri lets go of Victor’s hand and crosses his arms over his chest. “Sorry, there was only one open flight back to Fukuoka tonight.” He glances up at Victor, then says, “How is she?”

Mari sighs and runs her hands through her short hair. “The bun was blocking her throat; they had to operate so they could extract it.”

“They did _what_?!” Victor nearly yells, which earns him a glare from the nearest receptionist.

Mari narrows her eyes at him and gestures to the two open chairs across from her. They both sit down, and Mari continues. “The vet said that the surgery could take a while; I’ve been here for hours.” She turns her eyes to Victor. “I’m so sorry. I told you I’d take care of her and then this happens? It’s—”

“—not your fault,” Victor interrupts. “She’s sneaky and always getting food at home. It’s just…” he trails off, voice wobbly.

“I know,” Mari says quietly. “It sucks.”

Victor nods and slumps back into his chair. “Did they tell you how long it would be?”

“No,” Mari replies, shaking her head. “They said operations like these are tough, so it could be a few hours to extract it and get her out of sedation.” She pauses. “Listen, I know it’s been a long day for you both. Do you need anything? Food? I can run back to the inn and grab some miso soup to go.”

“That would be great, thanks,” Yuuri says before Victor can protest, then watches as she gets up from her chair, brushes her hand over his shoulder, and walks out the automatic doors. When she’s gone, Yuuri turns to Victor and says, “What can I do for you?”

Victor doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans his head on Yuuri’s shoulder, and lets the tears finally fall. Yuuri hushes Victor under his breath, and lets the wetness soak into his shirt. He rubs circles into Victor’s back.

Victor’s always been his anchor, strong and steady in any storm. Now it’s his turn.

Which is why Yuuri bites back the tears that want to be shed, holds Victor close, and sits up straight, ready to bear whatever comes their way.

 

* * *

 

After who knows how long, a woman comes out and calls for “Mr. Nikiforov.” Yuuri doesn’t let go of Victor, not when they stand and follow the vet into a cold office, not when she says that it was a close call, but Makkachin is in the recovery room and will be just fine after a few days rest, not when they get into Mari’s car and drive the short distance back to the inn. He holds onto Victor like a tide hugs the shore as they quietly pad through the doors, careful not to wake sleeping guests, and doesn’t let go until they’re both standing in Victor’s guest room.

“Thank you,” Victor says lowly when the door closes behind them.

“I’m glad Makka’s okay,” Yuuri whispers back. “And I’m glad that she’ll be able to come home tomorrow.”

“Me too.”

A pause.

“Yuuri?”

“Yes?”

“Will you... stay with me tonight?”

Yuuri freezes. _Stay?_ Victor’s never asked him to stay the night before; it goes against their rules, the fragile boundaries of their farce that’s becoming harder and harder to upkeep every day. Staying the night, sharing a bed, it’s against everything they agreed upon.

But this isn’t any other night; Victor _needs_ this, needs someone to tell him everything is going to be okay and that he can relax. God knows that without Yuuri by his side, Victor will probably be up the rest of the night worrying about Makkachin.

Which is why Yuuri wordlessly walks over to the bed, toes off his shoes and coat, and climbs in. Victor follows, peeling off layer after layer until he’s down to his track pants and a white t-shirt, rumpled from the long day. He gets under the covers and turns so he’s facing Yuuri, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

“Thank you,” Victor whispers.

Yuuri edges closer to Victor and brushes a piece of hair from his eyes. “Don’t thank me, please. I didn’t want to be alone tonight, either.”

“Good,” Victor whispers, fingers clumsily brushing up against Yuuri’s wrist before finding his hand, interlacing their fingers together. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, you know.”

Yuuri’s cheeks heat and he snuggles closer into the covers, hoping the blankets will hide the redness on his face. “It’s late,” Yuuri says, half as a diversion and half because he’s beyond exhausted. “Get some rest, Vitya.”

Victor nuzzles his face into his pillow and closes his eyes. “‘Night, Yuuri.”

Yuuri grins and lets out a yawn. “‘Night, Vitya.”

It doesn’t take long for Yuuri to drift, eyes closing as the quiet of the room wraps around him like a blanket. He’s just about to doze off completely until he hears Victor whisper:

“We never talked about that kiss.”

Yuuri’s eyes fly open. “No… we didn’t,” he draws out. “But I’m sorry.”

Victor laughs quietly and closes his eyes again. “Don’t be; I liked it.” Then, “Sleep well, Yuuri.”

“Wait… what? Vitya!” Yuuri hisses under his breath, but it’s no use. Victor’s out like a light, or at least is _pretending_ to be. He sighs and rolls over onto his back, a thousand and one thoughts racing through his head while his heart beats rapidly in his chest. He _liked_ it? Why is he only bringing it up now? Was that an invitation to kiss him again? Does Yuuri want to kiss him again?

 _You can think about this later,_ he tells himself as he pulls the covers closer and shuts his eyes, but it’s no use. His head is all Victor — images and fantasies and _what-ifs_ floating through his thoughts at a rapid-fire pace. He wonders what it would be like, kissing Victor again, which leads to imagining taking Victor out on a proper date, moving in together, being by his side every night instead of just now. He thinks about waking up to Victor’s smile, kissing him good morning, cooking breakfast together on a lazy offseason morning. He fantasizes about his fingers, tracing Victor’s bare skin while Victor’s lips nip at his, fire and passion roaring between them.

He dozes off with images of his and Victor’s impossible future dancing through his thoughts, and falls asleep dreaming of what could be.


	3. Chapter 3

_rule three: no saying ‘i love you’_

It’s unsaid, but there’s a shift between them after that night.

They’ve always been aware of each other, never straying too far while in the public eye, but now Victor’s at his side all the time, even when the cameras are turned away and there is nobody to put on this facade for. He’s there when Yuuri treads across the room to turn off his alarm, a ‘good morning :D’ text visible on his lock screen. He’s there for the overtime practices, holding Yuuri close as they run through their dances time and time again, until they’re as perfect as they can get. He’s there in Yuuri’s apartment, coming over for dinner after a long day at the rink and laughing about whatever ridiculous act Yuri pulled at practice that day. It becomes so natural that, in weak times, Yuuri almost begins to believe he has a chance, a real chance, of being Victor’s outside of their little agreement. His mind whirls around those three words that escaped Victor weeks ago, the quiet murmur of ‘I liked it’, and plays them over and over again until he’s questioning if it was real or just a hazy dream.

Meanwhile, the Grand Prix Final looms ever closer, and every week a new rival gets added to the list of competitors: Yang/Leroy, Crispino/Babicheva, along with three new teams who blossom onto the scene and qualify. Before long, the competition is set and Yuuri finds himself on a plane to Barcelona, Victor tucked into his side the entire flight there, which does nothing for his ever-jumbled thoughts.

There’s no time to waste once they land. Yakov herds all of his skaters through the airport and into a large van, using the ten minute drive to the hotel to lecture them on “being responsible” and “not getting into trouble before a competition” (Yuuri blushes when Yakov flicks his gaze to Victor specifically). Yuuri follows Victor’s lead into their shared hotel room, and they toss their bags onto their beds before heading back down for a quick dinner with the rest of Yakov’s team. Yuuri goes through the motions, chatting it up with another dance team while Victor hovers over his shoulder, fingers splayed out on it. The closeless is nothing new, but something about the way Victor lingers in his space, kisses his cheek just a second longer than he used to, brushes flyaway hair from his eyes and calls him ‘darling’ while he does it, has Yuuri’s heart racing.

“Are you okay?” Victor whispers once the check has been paid and everyone is parting ways.

Yuuri nods. “Just tired,” he lies.

Victor clearly doesn't believe him, but doesn’t push the matter further. “Then I guess you don’t want to go downtown with the rest of us?”

“No, I just… want to be alone for a while,” he says, looking away.

Victor knows Yuuri well enough by now not to ask why, or dig around for an explanation. He takes Yuuri’s words for what they are and promises that he won’t be out late, then runs to catch up with their rinkmates. Yuuri lingers around the hotel restaurant for a few minutes after they’re gone, rubbing the plastic of his room key between his fingers.

If he’s being responsible, he should go back to the room and try to sleep; Yakov is going to be relentless in practice tomorrow, and there’s no way he’s going to miss watching Phichit compete in the men’s short program. But Yuuri’s a livewire, a mess of emotion and confusion and doubt, and if he tries to sleep now, he knows that all he’ll do is lay awake, thinking about everything brewing inside.

Which is how Yuuri finds himself outside of a small, glitzy rink a few blocks from the hotel. With a bit of hesitation in his step, he ventures inside and seeks out the front desk worker, who immediately recognizes him and chatters excitedly in rapid-fire Spanish. He doesn’t understand a word she says, but follows her regardless through the maze of onlookers, pulling the hood of his jacket over his eyes to hide from the murmuring crowd.

The girl stops in front of a large, blessedly empty rink away from the chatter of the lobby. Her English is broken and mixed in with Spanish, but Yuuri gets ‘free’ and ‘for you’ and ‘please skate’ from her efforts, and nods in thanks. She smiles brightly and goes back the way she came, leaving him alone with the buzzing silence of the room. Yuuri drops his bag to the floor and pulls out his skates, lacing them up as fast as he can. The ice calls him, and he’s never been one to resist its song.

Gliding onto the ice sends a wave of peace through Yuuri, a balm to the restlessness itching in him ever since that night sleeping next to Victor. It’s so rare that he gets to skate alone that he relishes in it, taking a few warm up laps around the rink before grabbing his phone and pulling up his playlist of past program music. He starts off easy enough, pulling up their free program from last season. It’s like no time has passed at all as he dances across the ice, arms poised in the air as if dancing with a ghost. The music fades out and is replaced with _Eros_ , and despite being beyond tired of the too familiar song, he dances along, waltz jumping wherever Victor would’ve lifted him. The playlist cycles through years of Yuuri’s career with Victor, skipping from the elegant rumba short dance to their feisty hip-hop exhibition to their ethereal free. Yuuri skates to them all, letting himself pour his emotions onto the ice, frustration and jealousy and confusion mixing in with want and lust and love. And as the last song comes to an end, he falls to the ice and stares up through the glass ceiling, only a little concerned that the last dregs of daylight are long gone.

“Yuuri?”

He pushes up onto his hands and jumps when he finds Victor standing on the outskirts of the rink, face flush.

“What… are you doing here?” Yuuri manages to get out.

“Looking for you?” Victor says like it’s obvious. “I came back to the room and you were gone. Phichit hadn’t seen you, neither had Chris or Yakov or Celestino.” He takes a deep breath and holds up his phone for Yuuri to see. “I called you a thousand times and you didn’t answer.”

“How did you know I’d be here?”

“I didn’t,” Victor says, “but where else would you be? You always skate when you need to think, and there’s only so many ice rinks in Barcelona.” He shakes his head and bends out of view, then pops up with a pair of rental skates in hand. “Care if I join you? The rink’s only open for a couple of more minutes.”

It takes a few seconds for Yuuri’s mind to catch up, but when he recovers he nods his head and gestures for Victor to join him on the ice. The gleaming smile that crosses Victor’s face brings a warm flutter to Yuuri’s gut, and it only grows when Victor grabs Yuuri’s phone and chooses a song from his playlist, the familiar notes drifting across the rink.

“Oh god,” Yuuri laughs, hiding his face in his hands.

“It’s a classic,” Victor teases with a smile. “Our first free dance as a team.”

The _Howl’s Moving Castle_ theme plays over the speakers, and Yuuri’s face turns bright red. “I threatened to break off our partnership if we didn’t skate to this,” Yuuri recalls.

“And I’m glad you did; it’s still one of my favorites.” He carefully reaches out his hand, and after a quick blip of silence, says, “Yuuri? May I have this dance?”

He doesn’t answer, just takes Victor’s hand and lets him guide them into an easy glide. The notes twirl around them, and after Victor gets warmed up he pulls Yuuri into their actual program. They’re rusty and they skip all of the lifts, but Yuuri’s heart glows when Victor holds him close and hums along. As the music grows, they gain confidence, and soon enough they’re flying across the ice into twizzles, spinning faster than they’ve ever spun before. Victor’s closeness only fuels Yuuri’s desire, and he holds onto him as tightly as he can, not wanting to miss one second of this moment. Victor’s energy is all around, electric and emotive and enticing, and Yuuri feeds into it, into _Victor_ , until they’re spinning into their final pose and the music fades out. When it’s over, Yuuri looks up at Victor and holds his gaze, falling into the beautiful blue depths of his eyes. They’re so, so close, and before he knows it, Victor is leaning in closer, and closer, until his lips are brushing Yuuri’s—

—and he panics.

“Yuuri!” Victor exclaims when Yuuri breaks away and trips over his own feet, crashing to the ice.

“I can’t,” Yuuri blurts out, scrambling to get back onto his feet. When Yuuri’s upright again, he books it for the boards and grabs his phone and skate guards from the ledge, unlacing his boots as fast as he can and shoving them back into his duffel bag. “I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“Can’t do what?” Victor asks, and it takes all of Yuuri’s willpower not to crumble right there on the spot.

“This! I… can’t fake it anymore, Victor. I care about you too much and it’s breaking me apart, pretending we’re something we can never be.”

He expects Victor to argue, but all he gets is a flicker of pain before his face fades into smooth indifference, a wall coming up quicker than Yuuri ever thought possible. “Okay,” Victor whispers. “If that’s what you want.”

No, it’s not what Yuuri wants, not really. He wants Victor, all of Victor; his love, his joy, his pain, his persistence, his glory. But Victor’s in a league Yuuri will never be capable of reaching, Victor said so himself, all those years ago, so he has to let him go. It’s the only way to move forward.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri whispers again, getting up from the bench and grabbing his phone from its perch on the wall ledge.

“I’m sorry, too,” Victor says, and turns his back on Yuuri. “But I won’t stop you.”

Yuuri nods at that, and picks up his bag from the floor, walks out the glass doors, and escapes out the back exit. He walks slowly back to the hotel, and when he arrives, bypasses his floor completely and walks out onto the roof balcony.

With the city as his only witness, he sits down on the cold concrete, pulls his knees up to his chin, and cries.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long for Yuuri’s absence to be noticed, and soon enough a ding of an elevator door rings out behind him and he finds his best friend rushing forward, pulling Yuuri into a fierce, warm hug. He cries and cries until he’s out of tears, and only then does Phichit gently pick him off the ground and guide him back to his hotel room. He promises Yuuri that Celestino won’t be back for hours and won’t mind an extra roommate for the night.

They climb into Phichit’s bed, and Yuuri’s grateful beyond words that Phichit doesn’t ask questions, just holds him close and runs his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, just like he used to do during skating summer camps and sleepovers when they were just novices, training under Celestino. He falls asleep there, and wakes up to Phichit tossing a pillow at his face, gently but firmly reminding him that ice dance practice begins in under an hour and that he really should get ready.

The entire drive to the rink is nauseating. It’s only been a few hours since he’s seen Victor, but it feels like years when he looks over and finds nobody sitting next to him. He checks his texts and finds no good morning from Victor, and when he asks which rink they’re practicing in, the ‘read at 8:07 AM’ followed by no response makes his skin crawl. Victor’s always been a little petty when he’s annoyed, purposefully saying JJ’s name wrong or pulling a clearly plastered on smile for Yakov, but Yuuri’s never been on the receiving end.

The cold shoulder doesn’t let up when Yuuri steps onto the ice and finds Victor already there, disinterestedly leaning against the boards as Sara and Mila run through their free dance.

“You’re late,” he mutters, not even sparing Yuuri a glance.

“Sorry,” he says, but Victor only sighs and skates over to where Georgi is stretching, leaving Yuuri behind.

Yuuri sighs. He deserves it, he knows, but the cloaked aggression stings regardless.

When it’s their turn to run through their dances, it’s like a light switch flips inside Victor. His face softens, and when they dance to the fiery notes of _Eros,_ Yuuri’s the one who keeps getting yelled at by Yakov to bring more emotion. Yuuri tries, and tries, and tries, but no matter what he does, it all falls flat, and familiar doubt creeps into Yuuri’s mind, twists and coils around him, tells him that if they lose out on a medal, it’ll be all his fault.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispers as he grabs his arm and guides him over to the boards. “You’re panicking.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Yuuri mutters, pushing the palms of his hands up against his eyes so hard that stars form. “I suck today.”

Victor sighs and leans in close. “Listen, I know things are… off, between us. But let’s just put it all aside until the competition is over, okay?”

Yuuri can only get himself to nod, and follows Victor back to the middle of the rink where Yakov waits. It’s not a perfect dance, but it’s enough for Yakov to let them off the hook and say they’re done for the day, which is a relief.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur. Victor retires to their hotel room to catch up on sleep, and Yuuri goes to the men’s short program to cheer on Phichit. It’s oddly calming, watching from the other side of the boards, but all of his composure dissolves the minute Phichit lands his quad salchow cleanly and Yuuri yells as loudly as he can. By the time the short program is over, Phichit clenches a new personal best, and sits behind Chris by a fraction of a point. From there, it’s celebratory dinner, followed by a quick swim in the freezing pool and popping a (well-hidden) bottle of cheap champagne in Phichit’s hotel room. But distractions can only last for so long, and when the sun goes down and Celestino returns to the room, Yuuri has no choice but to go back to his own and face whatever Victor he’s going to get.

It’s not as bad as he thinks. Victor’s quiet, says a few pleasantries but doesn’t expand upon anything Yuuri asks. The tension is nowhere near as strong as it was at the rink, but the underlying unease is still there, like an itch Yuuri can’t scratch. Something about Victor’s cool attitude rubs him the wrong way, but he doesn’t say a word, determined to keep the peace just like they agreed upon until the competition is over.

The next day is the rhythm dance, and they perform it as best as they can, considering the circumstances. Not their best, but good enough to secure them in second place, a point behind JJ and Isabella. Victor runs off with Chris after the competition ends, and Yuuri goes back to his room alone, wishing more than anything that Mari was here to talk to and not half a world away.

Turns out, wishes aren’t always fruitless.

As he walks into the rink the following day, Victor’s putting on his best show for the cameras, but even then he can tell that people are raising eyebrows at the clear distance between them. It’s beyond uncomfortable, having the eyes of the ever-growing audience on you, whispering to one another and pulling out their phones as they walk by. Yuuri’s so busy ducking his head and staying out of the crowd’s peering gaze, that he almost misses the flash of bright blonde hair and the hissed, “Yuuri!” from the corner of his eye.

He pulls Victor to a halt and spins around, a wide grin flying onto his face when he sees Mari leaning over the bleachers, waving at him from a few feet away.

“Mari!” he nearly cries, breaking away from Victor to run towards his sister. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs her shoulders with an amused smirk. “Please, did you think we’d miss you competing in the Grand Prix Final?”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “We?”

Mari nods. “Mom and Dad are around somewhere, and Vicchan is waiting for you up in our hotel room.” She pauses, flicking a gaze over to Victor, who is still standing by the boards, waiting for Yuuri to join him again. “What’s up with you guys? Victor looks… tenser than usual.”

Yuuri sighs and motions for her to walk a little further down the row. Once they’re out of Victor’s earshot, Yuuri leans his head against the cool concrete wall and groans. “Because I’m a big idiot.” He glances up and finds Mari raising her eyebrows. “I, uh, broke things off with Victor.”

“You what?!” Mari exclaims, so loud that Yuuri immediately glances around, hoping beyond hope that Victor didn’t notice her outburst. A sigh of relief escapes him when he looks over and finds Victor chatting with Yakov, eyes trained on the ice. “Wait,” she continues, “how? What did you say?”

“I told him the truth,” Yuuri shrugs. “Mari, it’s been…,” he shakes his head, “it’s been so hard. I’m tired and I don’t know, I just can’t wait around anymore, not when he’ll never like me like that.”

Mari’s face fades from cool compliance to firey annoyance faster than he thought possible. “Oh god, you’ve got to be _kidding me_.” She shakes her head so hard the bandana around her head almost falls off and her fingers curl tighter around the ledge of the bleachers. “Yuuri, I love you, but you’re so _stupid_.”

“What are you talking about?” Yuuri hisses under his breath after an old woman behind Mari glares at him.

“You’re so dense!” she hisses back. “Do you really think Victor only sees you as a friend?”

“He said so!”

“That was four years ago!” Mari pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers and sighs. “Listen. I don’t know a ton about romance, but I do know how friendships work, and I’m sorry, but you guys have never been ‘just friends’.” Yuuri must look confused, because Mari continues without waiting for a response. “That night at the animal hospital? I’ve never seen you hold someone so close. I felt like I was intruding just by being there. And the way he looks at you? Psh. Please. It’s like you’re the center of the world.”

Yuuri shifts and rubs the back of his neck. He’d love for all of that to be true, but Mari doesn’t know Victor like he does, doesn’t know that Victor’s in a whole other orbit, and Yuuri’s just trying his best to catch up. She isn’t with him day in and day out, seeing the clear line between what’s fake and what’s real. And as much as she’d like to think she knows everything about Yuuri, a whole expanse of land separates them. He’s not who he was when he was twelve, watching Victor on TV with stars in his eyes and declaring with clear confidence that he was going to marry Victor one day. He’s wised up, gotten his head out of the clouds. He sees _this_ — him and Victor— for what it is: a partnership, an agreement, a lie that’s gotten into both of their heads and has clouded the air between them. That’s the only reason why Victor’s been acting like he has; he’s just confused, lost in the thrill of competition. It’s the only reason why he kissed Yuuri last night, it has to be.

Because the alternative is too much to bear.

An announcer comes over the loudspeakers and calls for the final group to get ready for warm-up. “I need to go,” Yuuri says, turning away from the bleachers.

“Wait!” Mari hisses.

“What?” Yuuri says as he turns back around.

She leans her elbows against the ledge and closes her eyes. “Just… think about what I said. And… good luck out there.”

His lips curl up at the edges and he nods in thanks before walking over to where Victor and the other skaters wait. A loud pop beat comes on over the speakers, and he dutifully stands by Victor’s side as they skate out onto center ice with the rest of the group and are announced. The crowd is absolutely _huge_ , every seat filled with cheering fans. His heartbeat picks up when his eye catches on a rather large banner in the crowd that reads ‘Victuuri 4Ever!’ overlayed on a picture of Victor kissing his cheek, and then goes into double time when a group of girls scream at them as they skate by during warm-up. He can’t explain why, but the energy in the rink is vibrating today; the arena feels cramped, the fans are loud, too loud. The other skaters pass by and Yuuri swears they’re giving him annoyed looks. And the longer he and Victor lap around the ice, the more uneasy he feels, tension growing, growing, _growing_ —

“Yuuri? Breathe.”

—until Victor pulls him back to the surface and looks him in the eye, a center in the storm around them. He guides Yuuri over to the boards where they’ll be out of the way of other skaters, and puts both hands on Yuuri’s shoulders, breathing in, then out, then in, all while whispering ‘breathe’ over and over until Yuuri finds his axis again and rests his head against Victor’s chest.

“Thanks,” he mutters before taking a step back, glancing up from under his eyelashes to look at Victor’s concerned face.

“Are you okay?” Victor says, just loud enough to be heard over the blaring music.

Yuuri nods and cautiously grabs Victor’s hand, trying to guide him back into the flow of warm-up. But Victor doesn’t budge, but instead pulls Yuuri back and leans down towards him, lips so close to Yuuri’s ear that he can hear Victor’s soft breathing.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so cold to you these past few days,” he says in a near whisper. “If you want to end this, I’ll talk to Yakov and we can come up with a break-up story. But…” he trails off, fingers sliding down until they’re intertwining with Yuuri’s, “whatever you’re feeling, leave it all out on the ice. I will too.”

The arena is already freezing, but Yuuri feels a chill run down his spine at Victor’s words, shivers as Victor releases his hand and skates back towards the rink’s edge as the end of warm-up is called. He robotically follows, taking his skate guards from Yakov without really looking and following the others into the green room, thoughts a thousand miles away.

 _End this?_ Coming from Victor, it sounds so impossible, he almost forgets that he’s the one who said it first, is the one who is calling for an end to all of this, wants to end this.

...Right?

If asked a few days ago, Yuuri would’ve been completely certain of his choice. Victor didn’t love him, couldn’t love him, so it was time to let go. But after Mari’s words, Victor’s plea to leave everything on the ice, suddenly the clear line between real and fake is blurred more than ever. He’s always thought Victor didn’t want him that way, that he was on a level Yuuri could never reach, but what if that’s not true? Victor is, at the end of it all, human— not a god, not a fae, not an angel or a prince or a nymph or any of the other ethereal creatures he’s been compared to his entire life— but a real, flesh and bone human who has been by Yuuri’s side since he was sixteen years old. He’s beautiful and passionate and kind, but stubborn and quick to speak and sometimes a little bit petty.

It’s one thing to think a god could never love a human, but is it wrong to think that a human Victor could love an equally human Yuuri? Petty, passionate, flawed Yuuri? Just a few moments ago, he would’ve written off the thought completely, but after Victor’s little speech, the way he lingered just a little closer than friends do? He’s not sure anymore.

“Katsuki and NIkiforov are up next,” a bored attendant says while he glances down at a clipboard.

Yuuri pushes up from the wall he’s leaning against and turns towards Victor, catching his eye. There are a thousand questions there, ones that Yuuri wants to answer when the time is right, but not now. No, now it’s time to go out there and leave everything on the ice, show Victor once and for all how he really feels.

“Ready?” Victor asks.

Yuuri reaches over and takes Victor’s hand, curling their fingers together. “Of course.”

When they emerge from the tunnel and into the arena, JJ and Isabella are just twirling into the end of their free dance. The crowd goes wild, and a rain of flowers and plushies cascade towards the ice, and the fray fills with “JJ Style” banners. They hold each other close as they skate towards the edge, and Yuuri feels the familiar twinge of anxiety drop into his gut when they pass each other by. But it’s gone as quick as it came when Victor pulls him into a quick warm-up, eyes never leaving his, not even when JJ and Isabella’s incredibly high score is announced.

“Ignore that,” Victor says, and for once, Yuuri listens. He breathes in, closes his eyes, and focuses on nothing but the cold air brushing against his skin and the warm pressure of Victor’s hand in his.

“Now on the ice, representing Russia, Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov!”

The roar from the audience is louder than Yuuri’s ever heard before. They skate to the center ice and fall into their opening pose, Yuuri kneeling on the ground with his hands held close to his chest, Victor with his eyes raised towards the blindingly bright fluorescent lights. It seems like an eternity before the soft piano notes fill the arena, the eager silence dancing across Yuuri’s skin like a livewire.

But when the quiet, romantic notes of the piano finally come, Yuuri’s calm, centered, completely ready to give it his all.

So, it begins.

Victor reaches down and pulls him up into a standing position, eyes soft and focused as he guides Yuuri into their opening lift. Yuuri feels light as air when he’s balancing on Victor’s thigh, arms outstretched towards the crowd while they clap. Falling back to the ice is easy, and he lets Victor’s strong hands hold him as they fly into a quick glide around the rink; he puts every emotion into his edges, every doubt into his twizzles, every drop of confusion and doubt and wonder into each glide, yet it doesn’t feel like _enough_. This is his chance, to show Victor everything he’s feeling, to let him know how much he cares and wants this to never end, yet as they fall into the back half of their program, his only thought is _it’s not enough, it’s not enough, it’s not enough_. He can’t let this, _them_ , end. How can he tell Victor that?

There’s only one way.

“Do you trust me?” Yuuri asks as they go into their last element.

Victor doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”

“Good.”

“Yuuri? Wha— ah!” Victor screeches when Yuuri lifts him into a bridal hold and twirls them around, perfectly in time to the rushing symphony of the music. It’s almost impossible to focus on Victor’s face when they’re twirling so fast, but the glimpses he gets is enough to reassure Yuuri that this was exactly what he needed. Victor looks amazed, and the adoration in his eyes fills Yuuri to the brim with joy. When they break apart and skate into their ending poses, Yuuri outstretches his hand and prays to any god above that Victor understands, sees his love for what it is: here, ready for the taking.

Cheers erupt as the music comes to a close, and Yuuri wastes no time in skating as quick as he can over to Victor.

“We did great, rig—” he begins, but the words dissolve on his tongue when his eye catches Victor barreling towards him, gaze filled with fire, getting closer and closer until—

—Victor’s lips capture his and they’re falling towards the ice, Victor’s hand the only thing protecting Yuuri from impact. The cold against his back hardly fases Yuuri, because all he can think about is Victor’s kiss, searing him from the inside out. He melts into the warmth, reaching up to grab the lapels of Victor’s collar and pulling him closer, wanting nothing more than to live in this moment forever.

But, like most good things, their slice of bliss is cut short.

“Oi! Stop being gross and get off the ice!” Yuri yells from the bleachers, which is more than enough to ruin the moment between them. Victor pulls away and stares down at Yuuri, a ripe blush reddening his cheeks.

“I just wanted to surprise you the way you surprised me,” he whispers, then breaks out into a fit of giggles as catcalls erupt from the bleachers.

Yuuri shakes his head and smiles back. “Well then, mission accomplished.” He nudges Victor off to the side and pushes up onto his skates, offering a hand to pull Victor up, too. “I… guess there’s a lot to talk about, huh?”

“Yes, there is, but I think it can wait until we’re alone,” Victor murmurs near his ear, and leaves a soft kiss on Yuuri’s temple before pulling him towards the boards.

Yuuri lets himself be guided, lets the roar of the crowd fizzle into white noise, lets everything and everyone but Victor fade into the background, because nothing is more important that this — Victor, holding his hand not out of obligation but out of want; Victor, kissing him not for show but because he wanted to surprise Yuuri; Victor, showing his love through action and (hopefully) later, words.

But there’s still work to be done, medals to be awarded and podiums to stand on, press conferences to attend and banquets to celebrate. It could be a while until they get time alone, with the flurry of post-competition. Yet, his heart isn’t racing with nerves, and his hands aren’t shaking with fear. His breathing is even, his lips are pulled into a smile instead of a frown. And with Victor’s hand in his, warm and familiar, he’s never felt more certain that this, them, is not going anywhere.

 

* * *

 

“Gold looks good on us, don’t you think, darling?”

Yuuri shakes his head as he swipes the hotel key and pushes open the obscenely heavy door, walking into the freezing, dark room. The gold medal around Victor’s neck is stunning, a perfect match to his own, safe and sound in his jacket pocket. It almost doesn’t feel real, if he’s being honest. Victor’s kiss was more than enough to satisfy, and winning a gold medal by barely a point was just the cherry on top of a whirlwind day.

“Don’t get too comfortable; we still have Europeans in a month,” Yuuri teases, knocking his hip into Victor’s.

“Yuuuuuuri,” Victor whines as he flicks on the lights. “Don’t turn into Yakov!”

Yuuri laughs and turns to face Victor, grabbing his wrists and pulling him close. “I would _never_ do that,” he says in a low voice; without thinking, he pushes up onto his tiptoes to capture Victor’s lips in a kiss. Victor smiles into it and slides his hands into Yuuri’s hair, guiding him back until Yuuri’s knees hit the bed and he falls backwards, Victor landing clumsily on top of him. The laughter that comes out of Victor is infectious, and soon enough they’re both cackling as they roll into the mattress, sprawled out next to each other, fingers entwined.

But the laughter fades into tension the minute Victor quiets down and says, “So, I guess we need to talk, huh?”

Yuuri sits up and pulls his knees up to his chest. “Yeah, I guess we do,” he whispers. “You start.”

“Okay,” Victor says, crawling so he’s sitting cross legged in front of Yuuri. “That kiss… was a long time coming. I’ve been thinking about it forever, it seems like, but with the fake dating, and the media always watching us, it never felt like the right time.”

Yuuri squints and tilts his head to the side. “Seriously?”

Victor squints back. “Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

“I don’t know. It’s just that…”

“Yes?”

“....I always thought that you didn’t… y’know, _like_ me like that.”

Victor’s face falls as if Yuuri told him his hairline is receding (which it is, but it’s not like Yuuri would ever bring it up.) “Why not? I’ve been flirting with you for months!”

Now _that_ grabs Yuuri’s attention. “Wait, what?”

“Did you think all of the face touching was just for the cameras?”

“Yes, I did!” Yuuri exclaims, an exasperated laugh escaping him. “Why wouldn’t I? You said that nobody would believe we were a couple, right?”

Victor pulls back as if he’s been slapped in the face. “When did I say that?” he whispers, voice cracking on the last word.

Yuuri sighs and leans back against the headboard, looking at the intricate stitching of the bedding instead of Victor’s confused gaze. “When we first talked about fake dating. You said that… nobody would believe we were a couple.”

“...Oh,” Victor breathes. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the silver stands from his eyes. “I said that because I thought nobody would believe that I settled down. You knew me back then; everyone insisted I was the playboy, and I didn’t want to give that image up. But please, _Yuuri_ ,” he pleads, eyes warm and hands reaching forward to capture his, “I would never say that now. You’ve changed me, for the better, and I want nothing more than for everyone to know that I’m yours.”

 _I’m yours._ The words suspend in the air between them. Victor is Yuuri’s, if he wants. But love is confusing, and as much as he wants to claim it, wrap himself up in it and shout to the world that he stole Victor from it, he still hesitates. What if this changes everything? What if it doesn’t work out, and they can never go back to the way they were? Is it worth the risk? Yuuri wonders..

...but when he looks at Victor, he sees the love radiating off of him, and clarity hits him like a lightning strike. It could all fall apart. It could go wrong. It could leave them broken.

Or it could be the best thing that’s ever happened to either of them. It could be true love. It could be forever.

That propels Yuuri forward, like a ship drawn to shore, into Victor’s arms. He holds him close, nuzzles his face into the warm crook of his shoulder, and mumbles, “Yes.”

“Yes what?” Victor whispers.

“Yes, you’re mine. And I’m yours.”

Yuuri doesn’t know what the future holds, but as Victor tilts his head up and kisses Yuuri like he’s the air he needs to breathe, he decides it doesn’t matter, at least not now. Yuuri is Victor’s, and Victor is Yuuri’s, and for now, that is enough.


End file.
